


Biggest Melody You Never Heard

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Romance, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's obsessed with a face in a book, certain it belongs to someone she should have known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biggest Melody You Never Heard

_"What if we hadn't been born at the same time  
What if you were 75 and I was 9  
Would I come visit you  
Bring you cookies in an old folks' home  
Would you be there alone?"_  
\- Andrew Bird, Sifters  
   
When the librarian asks her to narrow down the time period, she says, "Late Victorian. Turn of the century." She stops herself from saying _fin di siècle_ and sounding obnoxious and overeducated. She rests her hand on the top of her cane, the cane she's carried since that horrific afternoon off Madagascar. The poison she injected herself with had started to cause permanent damage by the time it was removed, and the bitch... the siren... She set her jaw and reminded herself not to think of that. She waits as the librarian returns with a dusty leather volume and asks if it's what she's looking for.  
   
"It will do nicely," Charlotte says after a cursory examination of the spine. She tucks it awkwardly under one arm and hobbles to one of the desks tucked into the far corner of the space. Nestled in the corner of books she feels she will be undisturbed. She rests her cane against the table next to her, puts her composition notebook on the table next to it, and flips open the tome.  
   
She finds a drawing of him, the regal lines of his face and the slightly superior twist of his lips, that laughable mustache and hair blacked with polish. Nikola Tesla. Genius, inventor, recluse. There are rumors of a diary surviving in his New York hotel room, but rumor has it that government agents stole it away before anyone could discover the secrets it held.  
   
She flips to another page, farther back. The book recounts mysteries of the Victorian era, the madness that gripped the world between 1885 and 1900. Victoria wore black and the entire world seemed gripped by night. Charlotte has always found it impossible to picture that era in daylight. It's always between dusk and dawn or dreary and overcast. She's sure the sun shone during that decade-and-a-half, but she can't imagine it happened often.  
   
Montague John Druitt. A viable suspect in the Ripper murders, though Scotland Yard refuses to divulge the depths of their evidence. "Unimpeachable sources," they claim. Sources like James Watson, often thought to be the true Sherlock Holmes. Both men now long dead; Druitt from suicide and Watson from an opium overdose. Their friend Tesla survived them by four decades but also died sad and alone in his hotel room surrounded by doves.  
   
She turns to the last page and sees Her. Typical for the time, the woman was relegated to the back, a footnote. Her photograph is overdeveloped, washed out by the sun streaming through the window so that her features are obscured and blurry. She wears a dress of indeterminate color, with a lace bodice and a high, frilly collar that frames her jaw. Her hair is blonde, she knows this from other texts, and in this photo it had been carefully tamed so that it surrounded her head like a halo.  
   
The woman was Helen Magnus. Dr. Helen Magnus, at a time when female doctors were a novelty to be laughed about at parties. She traveled the world with her companions, John and James and Nikola, and sought out creatures on the fringes of science. She kept a menagerie in London, one that quickly became the source of urban legends and superstition. _"If you go past the Magnus place, you best not go alone; if you go past the Magnus place, a beast will eat your bones!"_  
   
In the twilight years of the nineteenth century, Helen gave birth to a daughter. Ashley, a girl who shared her mother's contrarian spirit. When the girl was of age and Helen well on her way to being a dowager, she passed over control to the younger Magnus. That was how most texts referred to her; Magnus the Younger. Charlotte flips to a later page and finds a photograph of Helen taken from a distance, her pale white hair covered by a hat. A veil hides her face, but her thin lips - blood red and set in a disapproving frown - are visible.  
   
Charlotte continues to search but cannot find a younger picture. She curses, wondering what kept the mysterious Helen Magnus from posing for a picture during that handful of years. In all the photographic evidence of the mystifying woman she is either far too young or in her twilight years. None of them are the right age. Visibly around forty years old, with dark hair and a determined gleam in her eye.  
   
She decides to read what the book has to say, since she went to all the trouble of tracking it down, but she's dismayed to find it contains only more superstition and rhetoric. Rumors that she once tried injecting herself with vampire blood to achieve everlasting life. That her daughter was fathered by Jack the Ripper (whether that meant she was romantically involved with Druitt, or if it was another suspect, the book doesn't say). The book spoke of a friend of the Four, Nigel Griffin, who was killed in a tragic lab experiment connected to the vampire blood, an accident Helen herself was accused of causing.  
   
Charlotte closes the book with a solid THUMP. Poppycock. Of course they blame the woman, the silly-headed dame who chose a career above her station. Must have been her fault. She seethes at the fact that the world at least knew the names of Watson and Tesla, that Montague John Druitt had his macabre place in the history books, but Helen Magnus was ignored and sidelined because she was just a bumbling woman getting in the way of the Men doing Science.  
   
She returns the book to the carrel and limps out of the library just before it closes for the evening. Her cane makes a hollow sound on the floor, her body swaying as her muscles protest the work she's making them do. She's been so weak lately, the symptoms of her unintentional self-poisoning growing worse with each passing day. She wants to find Dr. Magnus' research, find something in her wild and remarkable studies that could help her.  
   
She knows if she has any hope, it lies in the story of Dr. Helen Magnus.  
   
#  
   
Only one video exists of Helen Magnus. It was taken at the Chicago World's Fair, and it shows a woman in a cream-colored suit, leather gloves, and a cloche hat laughing with her friend, Nikola Tesla. She turns toward the video camera, eyes wide with surprise and her lips parted in a startled "O" before she raises her hand and covers the lens. Eight seconds of soundless motion, and yet Charlotte has seen it thousands of times.  
   
She watches it again now, focusing on the humor in Helen's expression before she sees the camera. _So beautiful when she laughs..._ And then the shock and, could it be horror?, when she spots the device recording her. She remembers stories about the technology first being introduced, and the fear people had of their souls being stolen by the device. Surely Helen wouldn't have fallen for such rank superstition.  
   
Charlotte pauses the video again, this time on the moment when Helen first becomes aware of the intruder. Her smile is still on her lips, her eyes only slightly wide. She is middle-aged, almost right for the time Charlotte is trying to find. Her hair is still blonde, although it is hidden beneath a dark hat. Could that be... could she have just been confused?  
   
She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and progresses the image one frame at a time. When Helen is facing forward, Charlotte stands and crouches in front of the screen. Her face is lined up with Helen's, separated by a thin haze of static that makes her hair stand on end. This close, it's Charlotte that Helen seems startled by.  
   
 _Can you see me?_ Charlotte wonders, and she touches the screen as if she expects to feel flesh instead of the cold, curved screen of her television.  
   
#  
   
She looks just like her grandmother. Charlotte is stunned by the sight, almost misses her opportunity due to the surprise, but she hobbles across the pavement and says, "Dr. Magnus? A moment of your time, please..." The woman stops, her coat swaying around her legs as she checks her watch, debates for a moment, and then waits for Charlotte to catch up. "Hello. I'm Dr. Charlotte Benoit."  
   
"Have we met?"  
   
The woman has an American accent, a result of Ashley Magnus moving her mother's work to the Pacific Northwest after World War II. Her hair is blonde gone to gray, like Helen's in all the earliest photos, but cut short in an almost masculine cut, the bangs swept aside to leave her forehead bare. According to the records Charlotte has found, this modern Magnus is in her seventies, the resemblance to her grandmother is striking.  
   
"No, I'm afraid we haven't. Dr. Magnus, I have been trying to reach you about something for quite some time, and none of my messages are getting through. Please, I'm desperate. It would only take a few minutes of your time."  
   
Two men exit the building, trying to hide the fact they're armed by zipping up their jackets. One of them pauses. "Doc? You all right?"  
   
"I'm fine, Henry. I'll be there in a moment." She watches them go and then focuses her attention on Charlotte again. "How can I help you, Dr. Benoit?"  
   
"Charlotte. And I made a mistake. Several mistakes, actually, which compounded themselves and..." She cleared her throat. "I'm dying, Dr. Magnus. I feel like the answer may lie in your grandmother's research."  
   
"What would make you think that?"  
   
The moment of truth. She will either be labeled a psychotic or she will finally get the help she's been seeking. "Because ever since I got sick, I've been seeing Helen Magnus in my dreams. She tells me that she can help, and I've been trying to find her ever since. I found out that she died in 1935, but the dreams didn't stop. I can only hope that whatever the... dream or vision or whatever is referring to can be found in your records. Please. You have to help me."  
   
She stares for a moment and then looks in the direction her companions disappeared. "I'll have to tell them to go ahead without me. Wait here and I'll walk you back in."  
   
"Thank you, Dr. Magnus."  
   
"Please, call me Patricia."  
   
#  
   
Patricia Magnus listens carefully to Charlotte's story, forefingers extended vertically over her lips. They are in her office at the Sanctuary, and the beautiful blonde is backlit by the large picture window behind her. When Charlotte complimented her on having such a gorgeous home, Patricia said that she'd inherited it from her mother, Ashley, and the original building was home to the first Sanctuary run by Dr. Helen Magnus at the turn of the century. She had turned as she ascended the stairs and smiled back at her. "These walls have known many Dr. Magnuses over the years."  
   
Charlotte is only interested in one; Helen, the first female Dr. Magnus to run the Sanctuary. After Charlotte explains about the debacle on Grand Comore Island, Patricia leans back and lowers her hands to the armrests of her chair. "And this is when your dreams began?"  
   
Charlotte hesitates before answering, but she nods. "At first I thought it was just wishful thinking. You know, this brilliant and beautiful woman who swept in to save the day. I thought my mind was projecting a scenario where everything could have worked out. To protect me. To... get me through the day." She presses her lips together and looks down. She sees the cane out of the corner of her eye and hates it. "But then she kept coming."  
   
"And the dreams--"  
   
"Wait. You're calling them dreams, but that's not entirely accurate. She's there. I'm awake and aware, and she's there with me. In the bed. But when I wake up, she's--"  
   
Patricia considers that for a moment. "You're intimate with her in the dream?"  
   
Charlotte blushes. "I know I'm talking about your grandmother here, and I understand how it would seem if I was in your place. But..."  
   
"No, you misunderstand. My grandparents had a difficult relationship, to put it lightly. I've found evidence that they both found comfort outside of the marriage. My grandfather sought the company of prostitutes, while my grandmother chose to engage in the occasional brief affair with household staff members. She enjoyed the company of women, you understand. I'm just confused why you're so intent that my grandmother, who has been dead since before I was born, is the woman visiting you in your dreams."  
   
"She told me her name. We speak sometimes, and she told me that we knew each other in another life." She eyes the report on the desktop. "I know what your medical exam is going to say. It's going to say that the virus I injected myself with caused unusual damage to my cerebral cortex, that there's no way of knowing how it's affected my cognition. You'll say that this is a result of brain damage and that I got the image of Helen Magnus from some old book."  
   
"I wasn't going to say anything of the sort, actually," Patricia says. "The work we do, the world in which we operate, precludes me from using the word impossible. I prefer unlikely to preposterous. I do believe that your brain was altered by the virus changed you, but not in the way you think. I believe it gave you a unique insight to the world. Do you believe in time travel?"  
   
Charlotte shakes her head, not a denial but a refusal. "I don't know what I believe anymore."  
   
"My grandmother kept a journal. In it, she described some of her more unusual experiments and encounters. One such encounter was in autumn of 1886, when John Druitt came to her room and begged her to cease work with the Source blood. He claimed to have come from a dark and dystopian future where the experiment worked, granting her long-life. He told her that the injection gave him the powers of teleportation, which he demonstrated for her, and then revealed it had also made him prisoner of an energy being that drove him to kill. She could see the true anguish in his expression and believed him. The next morning she destroyed all the samples she had made of the serum.  
   
"If he was truly from the future, he created an alternate reality in that moment. The timeline forked, creating one world where Helen Magnus survived until this year and another where she died before World War II. I believe they exist alongside each other. And I believe that when a timeline has been forcefully broken, it has ways of attempting to make amends." She touches her tongue to her top lip and then picks up the phone. She presses one button and says, "Could you come to my office for a moment? Thank you, darling."  
   
"Some kind of brain specialist?" Charlotte asks nervously.  
   
"No," Patricia says. She glances toward the wall over the fireplace, to the right of her desk, and Charlotte follows her gaze. The mantle is lined with small portraits of the Magnus women through history. Even from a distance, Charlotte can tell they share so many features that they could very well all be portraits of the same woman in costume. "I was named after my great-grandmother, Patricia Heathering. You may have noticed the family resemblance. We built on that and have chosen a sort of... circuit of names. Patricia, Ashley... Helen."  
   
It takes Charlotte a moment to realize she isn't simply finishing the list. Someone has entered the office behind her, and Charlotte stands. She stifles a gasp when she sees the woman from her bedroom. The age is right, as is the hair and the clothing. She covers her mouth with one hand as Helen Magnus stares at her in confusion.  
   
"Mother?"  
   
Her accent is British, despite her mother's Americanism, she is _British_ and it's all so right that Charlotte wants to cry.  
   
"It's all right, Helen. This is Dr. Charlotte Benoit. I believe the two of you were acquainted in another life."  
   
Helen raises an eyebrow. "How intriguing." She looks at Charlotte again. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you once again, Charlotte. Perhaps we should become acquainted with one another."  
   
Charlotte bites back all of the emotion and all of the giddy laughter threatening to bubble to the surface, finally standing in front of the woman she's sought through books and journals and newspaper clippings and internet articles. Finally, she is standing in front of Helen Magnus. The right Helen Magnus, the archetype of her fantasies. She swallows the lump of emotion in her throat and says simply: "Yes. I would like that very much, Helen."  
   
#  
   
"I apologize for Mother. She has a flair for the dramatic."  
   
"It's all right," Charlotte says. They're walking through the garden together; Charlotte is grateful that Helen ignores her cane and doesn't offer assistance. Oddly, the pain doesn't bother her as much when she's walking with Helen. She can't take her eyes off the mysterious woman, in her black blouse and matching skirt with a slit up either side. Her sleeves are rolled up, hands behind her back as she gazes at the ground in front of her. Charlotte feels dowdy in her plain white shirt and hounds-tooth pants, her hair cut so short it doesn't touch her shoulders. She reaches up and brushes her hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind one ear. Helen looks up and watches the gesture and Charlotte blushes from the attention.  
   
"I've been looking for you so long that it didn't really matter how we met. I still would have been flabbergasted. I have so many questions I want to ask you; I don't know where to start."  
   
"Start with the mundane and work upward."  
   
Charlotte smiles. "Why do you have a British accent if your mother doesn't?"  
   
"Mother was born and educated here. For security reasons, I was raised in England and attended Oxford. When I was old enough I traveled her to act as Mother's protégé with an eye toward taking over for her one day. This is the central headquarters of the Sanctuary network. Well, I suppose any branch that houses a Magnus automatically becomes the central headquarters. But this is the one that started it all. The heart of it."  
   
They walk in companionable silence for a bit farther. Charlotte admires the colorful flowers, follows a bee that Helen points out to her, and finds her next question.  
   
"Do you remember me?"  
   
"I'm sorry. I wish I did. You seem like a wonderful person to know, Dr. Benoit. Just from the search which led you here, I know you're tenacious and intelligent, dedicated, willful, strong. Not to mention quite beautiful. I am happy to know that you and I possibly knew one another well in an alternate timeline."  
   
Charlotte looks down at her shoes. "I think we were lovers."  
   
Helen is quiet for a very long time. "Were we now?"  
   
Charlotte looks at her. "Is that too much information? Should I have not--"  
   
"You're telling me about me. Or a facet of myself, or..." She furrows her brow, then smoothes it and sighs. "It's all quite complicated isn't it? You said that the person you saw, the person with whom you shared these experiences, you say she looked like me."  
   
"Exactly like you. Your... ancestors? The rest of your family. They're close, but only you are exactly right. It's remarkable. Alarming, even."  
   
"Then whatever you have to share is information about me. And I'm grateful to have it." She gestures at a bench they're approaching, and Charlotte takes a seat. They're surrounded by tall hedges, isolated from the Sanctuary and the world at large. She folds her hands in her lap and looks down at the thumbs resting on top of her folded fingers. "What makes you say we were lovers?"  
   
"The way she... you speak to me. The way you sit on the edge of my bed without question, and you take my hand."  
   
"Like this?" Helen covers Charlotte's hand. "What else do we do?"  
   
Charlotte chuckles quietly.  
   
"No need to be shy, Dr. Benoit." She unfolds Charlotte's fingers and massages the palm. "Tell me. Have you ever touched me?"  
   
"No." Her mouth is dry. "We touch ourselves. She stretches out beside me and we watch each other... give ourselves pleasure." She spreads her fingers and skin slides against skin, the touch of palms as intimate as a kiss. "You feel so real."  
   
"As do you. I may not have met you, or have shared what you experienced, but I do feel as if I know you, Charlotte. I feel a trust with you that is ordinarily hard-earned. I don't take people into my confidence lightly considering my line of work, my life, my history. I look at you and I know you will keep my secrets. I know I can trust you with my heart because you will keep it safe." Her eyes narrow slightly. "You are remarkable, Charlotte."  
   
"I'm just..."  
   
"Do not argue with me. Not about this."  
   
Charlotte stops her retort and smiles. "Yes, ma'am."  
   
Helen smiles as well and brings Charlotte's hand to her lips. She kisses the knuckles and brushes her lips across the back of Charlotte's fingers. "Were we ever... more intimate?"  
   
"Like a kiss?"  
   
"Like more," Helen says softly. "Did we ever make love?"  
   
"Um." Charlotte turns away, ducking her chin.  
   
Helen chuckles softly, but not unkindly. "I apologize. My family has always been very blunt even when it comes to intimate matters. My mother was actually present when I lost my virginity. It's a very long story and nowhere near as sordid as it seems. But I would like to know. Have we ever made love beyond self-gratification?"  
   
Charlotte shakes her head. Unable to form the words. Unable to speak aloud and ruin whatever Helen is going to say next.  
   
Helen leans in. "Would you like to? Because I think I would like to make love to you, Charlotte. I believe I would like that very much."  
   
"Helen..." She's leaning in, their lips almost touching.  
   
Helen whispers, "God, I wish I understood what you were doing to me."  
   
And then they're kissing. Charlotte parts her lips in a gasp and Helen takes it as invitation, scooting along the bench until their hips touch, parting Charlotte's lips with her tongue as she squeezes her hands. Charlotte touches Helen's tongue with hers, turning and pressing tightly against her, eagerly returning the kiss until suddenly she gasps and pulls back. Helen's tongue is left questing until she tucks it back into her mouth and closes her eyes.  
   
"Charlotte? Are you all right?"  
   
"I think I just came."  
   
"Well," Helen says, stroking Charlotte's hair back away from her face. "One down."  
   
Charlotte looks at her with surprise, but then decides she's up to the challenge. She takes Helen's hands and brings them to her lips, eyes closed as she kisses each individual finger. She unfolds them, opening both of Helen's hands like an open book, and presses her face against them. She breathes deep, smells flesh and sweat and imagines she can feel the blood coursing under the skin because Helen is real, finally _real_. When she lifts her head, her tears have made Helen's hands wet, but she makes no move to wipe them off.  
   
"Where is your bedroom?" Charlotte asks, and Helen smiles before handing Charlotte her cane.  
   
#  
   
The only allowance Helen makes for Charlotte's handicap is directing her to the elevator instead of the stairs, holding her hand as they ride up to the private level of the Sanctuary. When they arrive in her bedroom, Charlotte is momentarily overwhelmed by the opulence of it. The four-poster bed dominates the room, which is decorated in a style that speaks to Helen's time in England as well as honoring the building's long history.  
   
She asks for a moment to freshen up and Helen shows her the bathroom. Charlotte undresses for a quick shower, trembling at what she's preparing to do. She uncaps and smells the shampoos, the body washes, the soaps, and is amazed to discover Helen's scent. After so long sharing a bed with what amounts to a ghost, the scent makes her more real.  
   
Charlotte finishes with the shower and puts on a robe that is hanging on the back of the door. It feels like water against her skin, insubstantial and exquisite, just as she would expect one of Helen's private outfits to be, and she takes a steadying breath before coming out of the bathroom. In her absence, Helen has placed candles on either nightstand, pushed back the curtains on her bed, and is sitting on the foot of the bed awaiting her arrival. She has taken off her shoes and the difference in their height is less noticeable with them both barefoot.  
   
"Hello," Helen says.  
   
Charlotte smiles nervously. "Is this utterly bizarre?"  
   
"You've read the research on my family; do you really want my opinion on bizarre?" She smiles and then shakes her head. "But I don't think it is. Not at all. I look at you and I see someone who knows me. I live my life in the shadows, and secrets are my stock in trade. You've no idea how refreshing it is to simply be seen. To be known. Even if I don't quite understand it, I believe it. If we do this and it doesn't work out, we don't risk anything. But if we take the leap and it becomes something... well, I think it's worth the risk. Don't you?"  
   
"Yes."  
   
"And I believe you've been teased long enough, Dr. Benoit."  
   
Charlotte's voice shakes when she again says, "Yes."  
   
Helen closes the distance between them and touches Charlotte's cheek. She holds for a moment, giving Charlotte ample time to stop her, but Charlotte has been waiting too long for this. She wets her lips and angles her head forward, and Helen takes the invitation. Their lips touch and Charlotte instantly moans at the contact, thrusting her tongue into Helen's mouth at long last. She never doubted the reality of what she experienced in her bedroom, never once believed the woman she pleasured herself with was anything but real, but this...  
   
She breaks the kiss and shakes her head. Helen puts her hand in Charlotte's hair. "Darling, it's all right."  
   
"I know. I just need a second."  
   
Helen kisses her eyebrows and guides her to the bed, sitting beside her. "Perhaps it would be easier to start slowly." She gathers her skirt and bares her thigh, trailing one finger along the stocking until twisting her wrist to disappear underneath. Charlotte watches raptly, her own hands balled into fists between her thighs, eyes dark as Helen sucks in a breath. "It's only right to begin like this, don't you think?"  
   
"Yes..." Charlotte brings one hand to her mouth, wets two fingers, and pushes the robe open to touch herself. She arches her back immediately and leans forward. Helen puts her free arm on Charlotte's shoulders, sliding it back along her neck and drawing her in. She spreads her legs apart and her arm begins to move, ever so slightly at first and then faster. Charlotte uses two fingers against herself, breaking the kiss to slide her lips along Helen's smooth cheek to her ear.  
   
"God, you feel so real. You're perfect."  
   
"Undress me."  
   
Charlotte leans back, one hand still between her legs as she brings the other up to the collar of Helen's blouse. She undoes them slowly, treating each newly exposed tract of skin like something precious. She lowers her head to kiss it, feeling the warmth of Helen's skin against her lips and her tongue as she sweeps it across her collarbone. She tastes Helen, feels her reaction, and she kisses up her neck to find her lips again.  
   
Helen shrugs out of the blouse and vest in one movement, letting them fall to the floor as she shifts position on the bed. She guides Charlotte down with gentle pressure and straddles her, sitting up and reaching back to undo her bra. Charlotte drags it away and exhales at the sight of Helen's bare breasts, cupping them with her hands as Helen bends down for a kiss.  
   
As their tongues touch, Charlotte feels the pain dissipate from her body. For a moment she feels as if she could walk unassisted. Helen unties her robe and her hand skims across her stomach, teasing her navel before moving lower to the dark hair between Charlotte's legs. For a moment Charlotte thinks she can hear the ocean outside the window and feel the muggy air of an African island during monsoon season.  
   
Helen is kissing her body, lips around one nipple as her fingers part Charlotte's thighs and begins to massage her there. Charlotte closes her eyes, caressing Helen's breasts in time to the older woman's thrusting hand. Her climax takes her by surprise and she cries out, and Helen smothers the sound with her lips. They kiss until Charlotte becomes still, her thighs tight around Helen's hand, Helen's weight heavy upon her. Helen pulls back and circles Charlotte's lips with her tongue before plunging it back inside.  
   
"So you see?" Helen says after the kiss, as if continuing a conversation, "had we taken the time to get to know one another, to explore just what we mean to each other, or we could keep doing this and let the details sort them out."  
   
"Who needs details?" Charlotte asks.  
   
Helen smiles, and she looks so beautiful that Charlotte can't resist a spontaneous kiss. Helen moans and rolls to one side, lifting her hips to push her skirt and underwear down her legs. Charlotte grabs the unnecessary material and yanks it off, tossing it onto the floor and urging Helen's legs apart by squirming between them. She's panting when she bends forward, kissing Helen's breasts before moving lower, nuzzling her pubic hair and thighs before she finally presses her lips to the soft pink folds she's been so often teased with.  
   
"Oh, Charlotte..."  
   
She pressed two fingers against Helen, using her tongue to tease Helen's clit from its hood. She purses her lips around it, sucking it into her mouth, and Helen arches off the bed. She pushes two fingers into her, eyes closed as she tries to remember the smell and feel and taste just in case this isn't repeated. She has no expectations and understands that she might be escorted to the door with a kiss on the cheek and a wish for good travels. She doesn't care if that's the case; she's spent so long on this quest that even one tryst is a worthy reward for her dedication.  
   
She feels Helen's bare feet on her back, her hands in her hair trying to push her deeper, and Charlotte revels in being surrounded by Helen at long last. To feel her, to be able to dig her fingers into smooth skin and feel the muscles contract and relax under her touch... it's all she needs. She will leave the Sanctuary alone forever in return for this moment.  
   
Helen comes against her tongue and Charlotte slows her assault, running her tongue over the sensitive skin in slow circles until Helen's stroking hands become more tender. The tension fades from her body and Charlotte kisses up her stomach, between her breasts, her throat, and finally her lips. Helen dips her tongue into Charlotte's mouth, tasting herself, and then she pushes Charlotte back to look into her eyes.  
   
"My God."  
   
"What?"  
   
"I don't know." She kissed Charlotte again. "I look at you and I feel... different. I feel very nice." She moves her hands to Charlotte's upper arms and squeezes. "Please don't leave. Stay with me here, at least for a little while. At least until we understand what this means."  
   
Charlotte nods, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Yes."  
   
Helen smiles. "I'm afraid it may be quite some time before I understand you, my dear."  
   
"I'm willing to wait."  
   
#  
   
Charlotte wakes in a strange place, her head on the chest of her lover. The reality rushes back to her, its dreamlike perfection solidifying into reality. She watches Helen sleep for a long moment, amazed at how riveted such a simple thing can be, and lightly pecks her lips before slipping away from her. Helen turns her head on the pillows, eyes half-opening before they close again. Charlotte makes sure she's back to sleep before she retrieves her robe and tiptoes out of the bedroom.  
   
Helen, the real-and-not-real Helen, is standing at the end of the hall. Charlotte approaches her from behind, hugging herself, watching Helen as she watches the city outside the window. Charlotte stops, waits for her companion to speak first.  
   
"I rebelled," she finally says, "against propriety. I raged against the theory that a woman needed a man to be complete, and I eschewed the notion that my happiness was contingent on settling down and having a child. For two centuries, I had my work. I proved a woman could be more than a wife and a mother, could be defined by something other than who she went to bed with. And when it was all taken away, when my time and my accomplishments were ripped from me, all I could think about, and the only thing I felt worth saving... was the woman I had grown to love." She turns to face Charlotte. "We met in another life. A world where I lived until a very, very old age. And you became the love of that life, Charlotte. You stood by in my darkest hours, and you were with me to share the happiness. You were the first to treat me like a person, and I loved the way that felt. You, Charlotte, were the first person I ever felt I had to prove myself worthy of. John Druitt changed my timeline, eradicated my life, and the only thing I mourned was you."  
   
Charlotte has tears in her eyes. "Why do I remember?"  
   
"You stood in the same place we met, at the same time. And while you stood there, a drug altered your mind. You met me without meeting me, an introduction with only one-half of us present. You pressed your face against the veil and couldn't forget what the shadows you saw on the other side, and for that I will always, always be grateful. Because now we have an opportunity to rebuild what was lost. You and this Helen will have a normal relationship. You'll grow old together. I envy you that."  
   
"Will I ever see you again?"  
   
Helen shakes her head. "I'm just a shadow. You belong to the one who truly exists. The one who is coming to find you right now because she already can't bear to be apart from you." She smiles sadly, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't worry about proving yourselves worthy of each other. You already are. Just enjoy each other. Love each other, as I loved you." She presses two fingers to her lips and holds it out to Charlotte. "I love you, Charlotte. Goodbye."  
   
"Charlotte?"  
   
She turns at the apparent echo. Helen is standing in the bedroom doorway wrapped in a sheet, her hair mussed and combed over her forehead to obscure her eyebrows. She tilts her head to the side.  
   
"Were you speaking with someone?"  
   
"No. Just thinking out loud."  
   
Helen lowers her eyes and a line of confusion appears on her forehead. "Charlotte... your cane."  
   
She looks and realizes that she left the bedroom without retrieving it. She touches her thigh and squeezes, the lack of pain so shocking that she cries out. She bends her knee and places her bare foot on the carpet, then looks at Helen. She smiles and shrugs. "Not the most amazing thing that's happened today."  
   
Helen smiles. "Not even in the running." She holds out her hand and softly whispers, "Come back to bed."  
   
Charlotte looks at the empty window again, tests her weight on the leg, and reaches out to take Helen's hand, allowing herself to be pulled back into the bedroom.


End file.
